


and there's a place for us

by raiindust



Series: four walls don't make a home [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon What Canon?, F/M, Who needs canon anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-20 08:49:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16133828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiindust/pseuds/raiindust
Summary: There is land, it is said, in hushed whispers and soft winds, beyond the boundaries, beyond the reach of the thirteen clans. Unclaimed in this brave new world, a whole history waiting to be written, to be lived.the remaining delinquents, and a few others, set off from Arkadia to find a new home.





	and there's a place for us

**Author's Note:**

> a long time ago i participated in my first exchange. and this has been sitting in my drafts ever since. it was finished, but didn't really fit the prompt that I was aiming for, so it kind of just was. but it's spring cleaning day, so why not get it posted? unbeta'ed because it's just who I am! set some time during a canon where everyone who fits a purpose into this story lives.

After war had brewed then simmered and faded all that remained for the delinquents was an absence of home. Arkadia held no golden memories, not for those who had fallen from the skybox to the ground without grace; a hundred lives deemed worthless enough to be risked in the face of death. In the end that decision still stung their skin with cuts too small to notice, until slowly they drifted further from the shadows of their darkened history, searching to begin anew.

 

And despite their past choices (the sadness of loss seeping deep in their skin), somehow, they come together. Youth who are wise beyond their years and all alone in the world sharing their pained pasts and looking for a future. There is land, it is said, in hushed whispers and soft winds, beyond the boundaries, beyond the reach of the thirteen clans. Unclaimed in this brave new world, a whole history waiting to be written, to be lived.

 

Leaving Arkadia, well, it’s not exactly suggested by any one person, not at first. Instead it begins as a spark of an idea that is eventually coaxed into to a roaring flame; a guiding light for those coming out of the dark.

 

The world beyond the reach of the past, that’s where they’ll find somewhere that they can call home.

 

\--

 

They travel south at first, to the edge of Tri Kru’s land, a small party filled mostly with wayward kids with no roots on the earth, led by Lincoln who seeks his own place in this changed world. When they reach the border of the Louwoda Kliron territory they move east with care and caution, having spent time prior to their journey learning customs of the Kongeda clans, intent on avoiding the same mistakes their Council had made when they fell to earth.

 

It’s slow moving, taxing on the tribe of teens and youth who have ventured into the unknown who become restless weeks into their journey, so it falls to the elders of the group, adults, barely who have seen too much too soon, to keep the young minds occupied.

 

They each have the roles, it turns out, simply based on everyone’s strengths. Lincoln guides as best he can, mentors the youngest of their group in practical skills found useful on earth; gathering, hunting, skinning, trading. Monty examines the changing nature of agriculture as they pass through the land, considering what they may need to trade with the closest clans and what they can transport with them and try seeding and growing when they find somewhere to call home. Miller keeps a watchful eye over the group, sending scouts ahead while he falls behind in the hopes to keep everyone safe from harm. Bellamy tells them stories, as they camp night after night under the stars they once called home. Stories of the past, tales of their future, lulling them into restful sleeps, their bodies fatigued from the gruelling journey.

 

And Raven? Well she just watches on; content with the knowledge when they find somewhere to call their own, she’ll be able to contribute as much as she can because while she can’t engineer while moving across uncertain terrain, within her mind she’s creating tools that will be more than necessary for their new beginning.

 

As they cross from the Ouskejon Kru’s edge into Trishana Kru land their exhaustion dissolves, paving the way for excitement to grow. And murmurs grow between the group, questioning quietly, anxiously, what they should call their new home. “We’ll know, when we get there.” Bellamy states, all business and matter-of-fact, because they’re still on the edge of the known world and losing focus now could mean their end. Except hope remains, bubbling into existence through laughter and smiles and the smallest of whispers of _soon._

 

It’s not until they stumble from the boundary of Trishana Kru territory, just south of the Ingranrona Kru land, four day’s trek from any known occupied territory, they find somewhere they might call home.

 

Raven sees it first; wandering away of the group as she’s known to do (too many voices creates tension in her mind which still seeks solace in silence that space gave her once). There’s a lake; shimmering in the sunlight, with a gentle river flowing from the north. There’s land, open and empty against the edge of a forest, where trees grow wild and free, enough space to settle a makeshift camp and build outward into the changing world.

 

There’s a drawn-out discussion later that night, a search for a name to make this world their own. The group is settled near the lake, a fire breathing between them when Bellamy suggests it by chance. Credo; Latin for believe, the word falling easily from his lips when everything else suggested seemed misplaced.

 

The quiet murmurs of the group fall still, the low crackles of the fire punctuating the contemplative silence until Miller nods across the way, Monty’s mouth breaks into a smile as he pulls Harper close, and Raven slides next to him, gripping his hand tightly, the casual display of affection catching him off guard.

 

The word reverberates in her mind and echoes in her soul. “Credo.” She smiles, and stars align as it falls from her lips. “Home.”

 

\--

 

Credo grows slowly from the earth because even though they were cast from the sky, Thelonious Jaha always had a plan. He sent _survivors_ to earth, with the right mix of skills to endure a changed landscape from what their ancestors knew.

 

Between them all they know the basics and after that they work hard to figure out the rest. It helps, being separate and so far from Arkadia; there’s a freedom they’ve never known before, and it creeps into their cuts and scars until slowly they begin to heal.

 

Even Murphy finds his place, somehow, with Emori by his side. Quips still fall easily from his lips (he calls it roguish charm; Raven snarks back “asshole”) - but his history is painted with men and women who would work beaten metal or wood into something brand new, and that’s a skill that should never be overlooked when building a home from scratch.

 

Before long, huts have sprung from the earth, stronger and sturdier than they could have hoped. “It’s the trees,” Lincoln tells Bellamy, as they rest from the afternoon heat. “They are different here. The earth is too. Like it knew --” He pauses, the ghost of a smile on his lips. And Bellamy doesn’t need him to finish the sentence, because he felt it too.

 

Like it knew, somehow, they would find their way to this home.

 

Still, there are adjustments to be made, and sacrifices to be had. The younger of the group eat first, in the hopes they will grow stronger than those who came before them. The older delinquents often share scraps of what remains, suffering not because they _have_ to, but because it is what they want. It’s not ideal, but at least it’s a choice, and for the first time in their lives, it feels like their own.

 

But despite her skills, it still takes Raven more time than most to find her place in their new world, the ground having stolen so much from her already, torn too much from her soul. Bellamy sees her going through the motions of her routine day after day; the fire of a girl who flew to the ground to save the world burnt to ashes because she burned too bright too long for people who asked too much but didn’t care enough.

 

So, he builds her a workshop, towards the edge of the town, facing the lake, after Harper mentioned that Raven seemed particularly drawn to the view. It’s a gesture, he knows (and ignores the way _Grand_ falls from Murphy’s lips like it’s a sin), but something that he hopes eventually will benefit them all.

 

(Both Lincoln and Emori have mentioned their concern for the upcoming winter; seasons were nothing but a concept to those born on the Ark: temperature control made sure of that, but Bellamy has faith that if she has a space that is truly her own, she’ll be able to protect them all. It’s what she does, after all, just another thing they seem to have in common.)

 

She’s worked all day out in the field the day he finally takes her there. He can tell she’s sore -- her face pinching as she places all her weight on her good leg, barely stepping on the other, but aside from a wince, you’d never know. He makes her close her eyes, and she sighs deeply before agreeing to do so.

 

He pulls her inside, and breathes out before whispering, “Open your eyes.” It’s small, admittedly, nothing like the space she’d had on the Ark, or even in the hull of a ship in Arkadia. But there’s a bench, and a chair, and shelves in the corner that are filled to the brim with every piece of technology they’d been able to scavenge or salvage along their way.

 

In the silence, he thinks he might have finally stunned her, only then she whirls against him, her features contorted in a way he’s never seen.

 

“Jesus Bellamy, why did you do this?” She starts, and before he can open his mouth, she rages on. “You could’ve built another hut in the time it’s taken you to do this, maybe two! You could’ve built something we actually _need_.” A pause, her body heaving, her features falling into sharp lines because it’s clear the concept of giving is different and new.

 

“Not to mention,” She continues, breathless. “The fields that we are trying to plough in time to try and plant something, so you know, we could actually _eat_ beyond those measly scraps of berries that they seem to scavenge each week! I can work out of anywhere, _you know that._ ”

 

A finger jabs into his chest, once, twice, three times to emphasise the words, and he sees it then, the uncertainty cross across her features. _Grand_ , he thinks, doesn’t even begin to cover what this is to Raven.

 

This is Raven, used to putting herself last, lashing out at someone who dared put what was right for her above what was needed for the group.

 

This is Raven, used to being left behind, unable to voice the simple words of thanking someone who put her first.

 

So he smiles, and ignores the way she jumps on that to unleash another verbal thrashing (“How can you be smiling right now Bellamy? Don’t you know you’ve monumentally fucked up?” and lets her be.

 

Because Raven is stronger than the darkness that haunts her soul. And slowly, in this place she calls home, she pushes and digs and eventually finds the light, and that’s the thing about fire, even the smallest spark can lick it back to life.

 

A phoenix rising from the ruins of her past.

 

And once she feels safe in her skin again, one she realises that Credo is safe, that Credo is home, she seeks him out, finds him on a night where the stars seem closer to Earth than ever before. It’s not like before, where she was tangled and coiled with her own demons to conquer; and he was there, a humbled, willing participant dragged deep in the chaos.

 

No. Now it’s soft and slow, tentative and unsure, shy and even clumsy in parts. He has changed but so has she. It’s no longer a quick sprint to the finish line but a slow journey of exploration to discover themselves and each other again.

 

He charts the changes on Raven’s skin, skimming the places where old scars have healed with his fingers, tracing the new scars (pink and raw) with his tongue. He graphs the slopes of her chest and the concave of her hips and catalogues the myriad of moans and sighs and gasps she emits as he licks long, slow, teasingly between her legs. He maps her movement as she tugs him towards her, hands tangling in his hair, tongue darting across his lip, teeth biting dangerously, flames igniting in her eyes. He feels the cataclysm crash open and when she cries out loudly into the night he finally allows himself to come undone.

 

After, when she stretches then nestles further into his arms, he memorises the features of her face like it’s the map created to guide him back to her, to them, always.

 

And slowly they grow back together, two halves of the same heart, no longer searching for home.


End file.
